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I promised myself to not whine anymore, so I won’t and I will put on a smiley face, like the one used in Facebook because I’m an adult and I will act like an adult.

And I did. Kudos for me for having good human skill.

Got meself new nails. Bloody red. Just like my good friend Robin said thought I loved. I do love red. Years ago I like blue – I still do – but I detested red; now I love it. It is the color of fire which I’ve dreamt a number of times. Fire is my lucky element. Probably.

When I feel down, I look at my favorite human beings and my mood is lifted. My current favorite human being is Norman Reedus, and you may know him as Daryl in The Walking Dead, Murphy in The Boondock Saints, Scud from Blade or The Young Man in Dark Harbor, which I definitely want to watch (will talk about it later). So I went on Google and got meself a bunch of his photos. He looks good whether he’s 28 or 48. Oh, just learned that he’s cuddly and generous in sharing his kisses. And he got bitten by a fan but didn’t press charge against her. And he shares similarities with Murph aside from smoking, his Irish heritage, for example.

He loves cats and acts like one

Since I’m currently quite into him, I checked out his filmography and see what I could pick. So far I’ve watched The Boondock Saints and Cigarette Burns. Been a bit afraid to watch The Walking Dead because it’s goddamn 7 seasons already! Want to check out Dark Harbor and Gossip.

But the friggin’ torrents tho!!!

Gif not mine

If you’re reading, I have to ask you why. Surely you have better things to do than reading me rant.

Please don’t correct me; I’m perfectly aware that ‘myself’ is the correct form. I’m merely trying to imitate the Irish accent, which I need for my unfinished Boondock Saints fanfic. Fanfic authors in this fandom fancy writing Connor and Murph’s dialogues in Irish accent, which can look quite odd: myself to meself – basically everything ‘my’ is converted to ‘me’ (me ass, for example); dropping the ‘t’ like jus’ (just); your or you’re to yer, to name a few.

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It’s been a while, my old pal, since I last talked about my experiences in a diary-of-some-sort post (the last one was a record of my ridiculously funny dream, wasn’t it?). Self-reflection is in order, especially when ‘69’ is so nice a number to put on top of an entry.

FYI (or not), this number only comes once in a cycle of 365 days.

(For those who are neither familiar or fond of my rant, feel free to proceed to the ‘Back’ button or ‘X’ marks the spot for a quick exit. For those who aren’t, bear with me. I promise it won’t be terribly long.)

I read from somewhere that humans are creatures of duality, or I just made that up in order to begin ranting. A kinda opening, maybe. Okay, I may have made that up; what I want to say is that we, as human beings, often have at least two individuals sharing our one body; sometimes there are cases of more. I’m not talking about MPD, or multi-personality disorder (there’s a good and complex manga dwelling on this subject so if you have time, go check it out); instead I’m referring to the multi-facets of personality and the fact that we can act, at different times and in different circumstances, like different people while these ‘different’ people are in fact different aspects of the same person.

My case is relatively simple, or so I thought: there are only two beings cohabiting in this flesh called my body. They have their own names alright, one being G and the other, Joel.

If you’re re-looking at the main page to check, yes, that’s the same Joel in Joel’s Toy Box. So this blog is basically a box to hold Joel’s toys. When she feels like it, she comes and takes some to play. When she gets bored with the toys (boy how often does get bored), she discards the toys in the box and leaves them to dust. Fortunately for me, Joel’s been in rather high spirit these days, resulting in this ‘toy box’ appearing quite pleasing to the eyes (with frequent updates to boot).

So, who do you want to read first? G or Joel. I bet it’s Joel. Let’s go with Joel.

Joel came first; before there was G, before the name ‘Joel’ ever occurred to me, there was Joel. Selfish Joel, nasty Joel who demanded all the attention (and pretty much everything else she wanted) to her vain self, who resorted to bully other kids when she didn’t get it, who placed herself at the center of the universe. Joel was and has always been every dark, twisted, ugly aspect of my personality combined. If you’ve been following my blog, you’d definitely know besides all the bright posts of fictions or fanfictions, there are entries of my ranting about how tired I was to this life and to this world. I call them long-running ‘episodes’ of my depression drama. Kinda unsightly to read as they were gloomy at best and more often than not brimmed with hatred, anger issues and unhealthy amounts of reference to death and self-harm. I was lucky to snap out of it and presently, though I still feel its vulture claw from time to time, it does not cause me to feel the end of the world. In hindsight, I suppose it was Joel’s fault for making me such a mess. Chaos is what she fancies, as though life would be too boring if things were not stirred up. And, just between you me, Joel is not even human, so it isn’t very strange that she can be alien to some human feelings. Joel is some sort of feline, not cat though, Joel is never as small and cute as a kitty. I’m unsure which but Joel must be a type of larger feline, probably a panther, a leopard or something else altogether. As far as I’m concerned, Joel has the attributes of a (big) cat: she dislikes humans in general and she only allows a chosen few that she doesn’t find annoying to pet her. She has claws, sharp claws and it pleases her to no end when she gets to scratch something, namely me. I still have physical evidence of Joel’s ‘playfulness’ on my forearm. Hopefully they won’t scare the guys off in the future. She is competitive and her envy, sometimes combined with jealousy, is a force to reckon with. Like every other cat, Joel hates morning and if she’s forced to be awake in the morning, you’ll be sure to meet her gloomy cold face (that was my default setting back in high school). Oh, let’s not forget Joel’s terrible mood swings and snarkiness. If you happen to get on her bade side, she’s more than ready to hurl snarky remarks at you, even if such behavior will generally assaults G with remorse afterwards; G who cares about others’ feelings while Joel doesn’t. Joel usually does as she pleases.

After Joel, I had G. As a matter of fact, G came much, much later and was really slow in her process of maturity. G is the opposite of Joel; G is the superego to Joel’s Id; G is what you find pleasant about my person. G is, most of the time, nice, rather sociable, able to crack jokes and witty. G cares about what others think, how they feel and whether they may be hurt by her seemingly harmless words. Therefore, in contrast with Joel’s Devil-may-care attitude, G treads with care and she slows down and takes time to choose what she will say so that she will not upset the other person. Also, while Joel is wild and free to show her rage, G again takes time for her anger to simmer down until it cools. On top of that, G has the ability to cheer others up when their mood is low. She jokes and sometimes even plays the fool in order that the people around, who are also close to her, may feel a little better. Heavy atmosphere puts her under stress and thus, she will do what she can to lighten it. On a good day, you’ll meet with G and find her quite an agreeable person.

One tiny problem is that Joel and G switches place as often as Joel’s mood swings – one minute it’s G, nice G and the next it could be Joel talking to you, ready to strike you with her claws. Even I have a hard time telling who is who; only when I carelessly slip a bitter remark or harbor a bad thought do I realize it’s Joel who is in charge (does Joel just love to surface and make her presence known). Worse yet, Joel can camouflage as G as she is ‘in the mood’ or G is too tired to deal with the world around. She imitates her sibling well, smiling cordially, speaking in soft voice and all that, but if you are a little keen, you’ll notice the cold light of disdain in her eyes and an icy edge in her voice, which G would never have. You know, as funny as it sounds, many have mistakenly interpreted Joel’s quiet disdain for shyness. “She’s really shy, isn’t she?” they asked, made fun of it even, never knowing at the same time, Joel was silently cursing and imagining ripping them apart with her claws.

Despite everything, G and Joel are siblings (though G is human and Joel isn’t), so they’re bound to share a few similarities. They both like to look good in others’ eyes, whether it’s human G or feline Joel. Therefore, they make sure they spare the time to groom themselves, pick out the clothes and accessories to match, wear makeup sometimes and step on high-heels. They fancy uncostly yet unconventional-looking accessories and like to collect affordable perfumes at convenience stores. They are both attracted to dark, disturbing matters and do not shy away from the sight of gore; naturally, they enjoy horror movies/TV series/anime/manga etc. more than considered healthy. Moreover, they have a soft spot for beautiful things, mostly beautiful people. A truth is, if you qualify as ‘beautiful’ or ‘eye-pleasing’ in their standard, you’ll find G to be even more agreeable and Joel, (nasty, selfish) Joel, pretty nice. If you do not, well, you’ll meet the usual G or Joel, depending on who is in charge at that moment.

As troublesome as they can be, I can and will never be able to get rid of either of them. Without either G or Joel, I’d be incomplete as a human being. So you two, stay with me, and we’ll get through this life till the very end.

I’m not writing in order to whine about my health though my half of my head is constantly in pain; I’m writhing to record an experience that might amuse and entertain you who spend your precious time to read my rants.

I’m writing about my last dream because it’s been a while since I last did (a real while).

Last night, despite doing to bed with the persistent headache, I had a somewhat pleasant dream. I was back to my schooldays, wearing the school uniform and sitting in the class again with friends whose faces were kind of a blur to me. Never mind them; they were probably imaginary characters my brain created to fill the class, otherwise an empty class would have been weirdly eerie—my brain was assuring me it wasn’t leading me into a slasher-dream. Nice brain. Although I still unsurprisingly sucked at maths as always, school was tolerable because behind me in the class was sitting a very cute boy. Dreaming of pretty boys, typical me. This 可愛い classmate, unlike my other classmates who were there to play their role as background, was a face I know so well I’d would recognize it anywhere, dream or reality. It was Zhu’s face and since Zhu’s been my obsession for the last weeks, it came as no surprise for me that he appeared in my dream; in fact, I had been reading some fanfiction involving his characters before I went to bed. (In case you’re curious, they were R-rated fanfiction.)

So my high school dream self was having a crush on Zhu, who possessed not his current look but the look of Lin Feng, his character in a movie about youths and their passion with traditional music (I don’t think I will ever be able to find and watch that movie). Lin Feng wasn’t as gorgeous or cool as his other, more famous roles; he was a normal-looking, somewhat plain, lanky and awkward teenager, the type of classmate most of us encountered at least one during our high school years (and probably forgot about if not reminded). Still, Lin Feng fitted in perfectly with the setting of my dream so my subconsciousness had particularly picked him.

I think I’m going a bit off the main path.

Anyway, my dream self was crushing hard on dream Zhu just as my real person is obsessed with the real him. Somehow I was half-aware that he was my present favorite actor in spite of my brain’s effort to cloak him as my classmate. Taking advantage of the fact that we were in the same class and he was sitting right behind me, I tried to get close to him in hope for a teenage romance to blossom. I was opting for the subtle way as I’m opposed to being too aggressive, like talking to him about schoolwork and hobbies and such, or helping him with the assignments and homework. He was a little reserved but was opening up to me little by little. Things were going a bit slow yet on the right track and promising. I was waiting for a chance to ask him to be my boyfriend (you know, not a friend who is a boy), and then…

… along came Yan Kuan, who is my other, milder obsession beside my bigger crush that is Zhu. As a matter of fact, I’ve been shipping their characters (萧十一郎 or Wolf, played by Yan and 连城壁 or Rabbit, portrayed by Zhu) so hard I’ve been writing fanfics, making fan pics and subbing fanvids of this couple. Keep in mind that I do NOT ship the actors themselves, just their fictional characters.

And that’s how I know I’m a hopeless fangirl slash shipper. My shipping blood runs too deep it penetrates my dream and transforms my dream self as well as my original plan to make Zhu my boyfriend: to put it short, instead of shipping Zhu with myself, I was now shipping Zhu with this newly arrived Yan Kuan by trying various ways of setting them up.

Like every fangirl slash shipper’s dream, those handsome boys hooked up real quick and soon (Zhu was surprisingly much less reserved with Yan than with me), I was merrily looking at them with a soft blush on my cheeks and gleam in my eyes (without drooling, ‘kay).

… And that was when I had to wake up because time for dreaming was over and it was back with the reality with migraine, stuffy nose, constant sneezing and eight hours of work.

To mark this remarkably funny dream, I’ve created a fan pic, using Zhu’s newly released photos. It’s a modern day AU of Wolf (萧十一郎) and Rabbit (连城壁), where Wolf is a CEO of some sort and Rabbit is a freelance artist. And no, I’m not having any intention to put this prompt into a story; I’m having my hands full with two long series and several oneshots already.

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Hello, it’s been a while since I last put this title on my post. Last entry’s to mark my first and probably last tattoo, isn’t it?

Things happened since then, a lot of things, but not many particularly stood out or heavily upset me so I sort of let them flow through me and left no record; I had many things else to write about. A couple days ago it occurred to me that it was about time I did a little reflection, you know, like putting a check mark on the calendar, so here it is, my incoherent ranting. You’re welcome to ignore.

Last year wasn’t kind to me; I suffered from depression episodes so many times I started thinking I might have developed chronic depression, and because of it, I was a bitch to my friends and as a result, I lost one of them, maybe two. I did try to make amends but I wasn’t very successful in this department. Well. One of my old friends (by ‘old’ I mean we’ve been in friendship for a very long time and show no signs of getting out of it) told me the older we got, the fewer friends we had, and that’s so true. I’m grateful for those I still have, those who have put up with my crankiness. I’m difficult and I know it.

This year is different; so far it’s been treating me with kindness. That hopeless, depressed feeling still pays me a visit once in a while; still it appears that monster is occupied with some business so it visits me scarcely, which means a happier, more satisfying and less cranky me. This year also marks a number of my first-hand experiences: I have a tattoo, for once, which I incredibly like because it is the symbol of the strength and endurance of familial bond, whose significance I’ve felt more strongly as I grow. I’ve began to explore my body and its needs, learning to appreciate and care for it more; after all it’s gonna be my life-long partner. I still hurt it sometimes, but the frequency has also greatly lessened. A satisfied body makes for a satisfied and productive mind and a more pleasant personality. Finally, my inspiration has grown with such strength I may think I’m obsessed with it. It’s funny how I’m almost compelled to write a certain number of words everyday; otherwise I will suffer, like for real. You could think I’m bluffing but it’s a nagging discomfort that makes me feel…incomplete. I have no idea how long this phase will last but for now, I kind of enjoy it. My ideas, plots and characters are my most faithful companions.

Something funny before I conclude this entry: I learnt that I will probably get married at the age of 30 and no sooner. So yeah, I may be appalled by the concept of wedding and such; nonetheless I’m going to have my turn at a ripe and hopefully mature age. No need to rush.

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Were it another year, this would be the last day of February, which… does not make it any more special than other days.

Overall I had a good Sunday. Woke up kind of early due to my body not accustomed to sleeping past 7:45, had breakfast, a shower, dressed up a bit (to take some selfies), and rewatched this week’s episode of The Originals (to emotionally torture myself, what’s else?) while waiting for a friend. Then we would venture to the tattoo shop, where I had my tattoo re-inked and she acquired a brand new. I had to roll up my shirt and bare my midrift to not one but two guys for them to have a close inspection. It should have been embarrassing but funny enough I wasn’t embarrassed. Neither were they. Then I got to meet the pleasant-smelling artist who had done my tattoo the last time and lied on the, for the sake of convenience, let’s call it a couch, and relaxed (or tried to) while she was doing her job. True to what another friend warned, re-inking was a little more painful than inking, but it was otherwise quick and bearable. It was finished before I even knew it and so, I got to watch my friend’s tattooing process. It was a bit messy and might not be for the faint of heart since she chose red and the half-done product looked positively like a grisly, badly colored frame from a horror movie. Anyway, it’s always oddly fascinating to me how the artist runs the needle on the skin and an image, character or phrase gradually appears.

We spent the afternoon watching Wasted on the Young, 5 minutes of Blood Creek, an OVA of Akatsuki no Yona and finally, 4 episodes of Galavant. Below are the comments regarding each item:

Wasted on the Young—She remarked Ollie was a bit old to play the teenage Darren while so far I’d heard only the opposite. Also, introverts are super dangerous when crossed.

Blood Creek— This movie reminds me once upon a time there was a rabid Magneto (Michael Fassbender btw) chasing a helpless Superman (Henry Cavill) around! Also, there’s a scene where Cavill’s character, half-naked, is strung up and cut just so Fassbender’s character can lick his wounds for blood. For the well-being of fangirls everywhere, Fassbender’s character, Richard Wirth, has to be grotesque, like grossly grotesque, otherwise there would have been many reported deaths whose major cause was blood loss and heart failure.

Akatsuki no Yona—Jae-ha’s antics and his abundant fanservice with Kija made her laugh.

That’s the magic of this underrated show; it makes you laugh with its brilliant silliness and forget whatever’s troubling you, which is what I really need right now to recover from the emotional train wreck that is The Originals. I’m too aware that investing emotions into shows and fictional characters is unhealthy and lame—have heard many yell “Get a life already!”—but when it comes to The Originals, I simply can’t help myself. The Originals is one detrimental show; whatever you do, don’t watch it. Ever. Last night, Tristan and Aurora gave me a gut punch whose pain would no doubt last for days to come (I suspect whether I could write a review). Many would say the de Martel siblings had it coming for them; they’re after all the (minor) villains of this season and have tried to harm the mains in varied ways. What they’ve done is not of my concern, as nearly everyone in this show is a murderer; my gut genuinely ached for them when they held each other in despair as the mental world around them crumbled and shattered and their souls were sent back to their corporeal bodies: Tristan’s to be drowned at the bottom of the ocean and Aurora’s to be buried The Cask of Amontillado-style. Strangely enough, their scene exudes much bitter romance than many while their story rates highly amongst the few heart-wrenching star-crossed lovers ones I’ve seen on TV (and they’re canonically siblings, not lovers!). Oliver Ackland and Rebecca Breeds truly outdid themselves here. If it isn’t too much, may I see them again in the six episodes left?

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Today isn’t any special day—merely a Sunday like any other Sundays (maybe a bit hotter), without any special occasion. It is today that I’ve had my first and arguably last ink.

I’d always to have an ink, I told a friend such, and she replied that she wanted an ink to be a memorial to a unique event. I didn’t quite share her idea: to me, an ink doesn’t necessarily carry any meaning, nor does it have to celebrate anything. To me it’s simply something you want to try because a (big) part of you craves for new experiences. New things excite you, enchant you, compel you to have your hands on them even just once. And unless it’s something detrimental and having a long lasting harmful effect like drugs (the editor in me is screaming false parallelism—just ignore her!) then what’s harm is there in doing something you don’t normally do for a change?

I held onto that thought when a friend asked me if I wanted to come with him to the shop and I said yes. It was much prevalent as I stepped inside the stylishly decorated shop and as I lay down on a couch with a soft, plush pillow under my back and an artist over my body. My friend was kind enough to book me a female artist since I was going to have one that would require showing some skin that was rarely shown nowhere but the swimming pool: in an ideal world I’d have it on the back of my hand or foot; however, the world is far from perfect so I settled with something less visible, something I could cover with clothing. Wouldn’t want my folks to freak out over my tiny act of rebellion.

So, I spent the next half an hour or so simply relaxing in the air-conditioned atmosphere of the room and the pleasant-smelling artist’s care (forgive the smell part but she smelled really nice I couldn’t help it). It was relatively painless, the procedure, and it felt like someone doodling on your skin with a ballpoint pen, and if I am to be honest, it felt rather good. Mine was a small, simple character so it didn’t take long; before it got uncomfortable lying too long in one position, the inking was all done. The artist photographed my ink as proof of my purchase, I paid for it and we went to have lunch. Overally a productive morning.

Now if you’re curious about what I had had tattooed on my body, it’s the character ‘M’ styled like this.

If you happen to watch The Originals (and are obsessed to that series as I am), you’ll recognize it as the symbol of the Mikaelsons, the Original family. This ink is a little trinket to remind myself years later that was one fandom I so adored that I wanted to have something significant from it printed on my skin. And what’s more significant a symbol than the ‘sigil’ of the Mikaelsons, the family that love their own blood so much that they have repeatedly hurt one another? Kind of a funny and twisted reminder of familial values, eh?

—

The last note before I bring this entry to a conclusion. Some time ago I told a friend I wanted to have an ink and she wholeheartedly agreed that we would find a trustable shop and have it together. Something might have happened between us—I’m not entirely sure what—and we haven’t talked or hung out for months. Today I had my ink without her.

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A week ago I started writing a short piece that is a crossover between The Originals and The Mystery of the Hansom Cab with an intent to make it the seventh or eighth installment of my Trilijah Collection. Still haven’t finished it as I’m typing this entry. Inspiration and motivation are trickling like filtered coffee. One of the reasons it is. The other being I got quite sick. Haven’t been this sick for a while so I didn’t see it coming. Thought it was just another migraine or another disturbance of the stomach that would go away after a night like most other times. This time it didn’t. I think I’d never forget the exquisite experience of taking a two-hour nap in the emergency room at 3 in the morning. The bed was hard, the temperature unstable (or was it me having a fever?) and the doctors weren’t exactly attentive. A thing to remember. Anyway, what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger, or so it says. Hopefully.

…

Remember when all continents in planet Earth were one big happy land? That was also how our connection used to be. Then cracks happened, small as first, then widened and widened until they divided the land. The big, happy and united land was no more. The tectonic plates started moving further and further away from one another. Drifting in the ocean. And they became isolated continents, separated by a body of water. Only an ocean away, such as it is now. We are now the lonely continents, and our link has been reduced to mere zero. Each to their own world, us. Conversations become tedious and most haven’t any attempt to try and fix things up between us. Or is it just foolish me who sees our current statemale an issue? Making a storm in a teacup they may think me. Probable truth. But “Dear God I’ve tried,” to quote Princess Isabella in Galavant’s season premiere 一 a ray of light in these dull days without The Originals.

Still, a part of me has given up.

Should I?

…

I’ve heard rumors that The Originals might be cancelled, which would devastating to me if it happened. Nevertheless, if it indeed happened, I do hope that all characters died, the Mikaelsons, the Trinity, all the vampires in the world, including the Mystic Falls gang 一 but not Hayley though; Hayley should live and raise Hope amongst her kins, the wolves, like she once wished. Being together in dead would be a far better ending than a cliffhanger that we all bitterly know would never, ever get off the cliff. Don’t worry. Fans are tough. They’d find comfort in one another and in the forgiving and loving embrace of fanfiction. They’d get over such loss.

But, no matter how much time has passed, I’ll remember those two dorks above. Always and forever.